All My Life
by straydogfreedom
Summary: Hotch is not going to sit back and watch Reid decay. Not this time. *NOT SLASH, warnings for SI and language*
1. Do I Disappoint You

Have no idea where I am going with this so I would love if anyone could point me in the right direction. Sorry, I doubt I'm very good at writing emotion but practice makes perfect so I'm gonna keep trying. Also, editing this was awful. I need a beta! Offers? Please R+R :) - **straydogfreedom**

**Warnings: self-injury and language **_(possibly more warnings in later chapters)_

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"Reid, you **need** to talk to me, or at least someone. I'm not going to sit back and watch you destroy yourself."

"For the last _fucking_ time, I am not destroying myself. Please leave, I didn't invite you in and you have no right to be here." Reid spat back at me "If you're not gone in two minutes, I will call the police. Don't underestimate me Hotchner, I'm more competent than you think."

"Reid can you _**please **_just hear me out on this. I'm not going to leave you here and come back tomorrow morning to find you've done some serious harm to yourself. No one thinks you're incapable Reid. You can contact the police if you really want to but I'll just inform them that you are a serious risk to yourself – _which you are – _and after that things will get out of your control _very_ quickly. I don't think you want that. I'll be prepared to keep this between ourselves, for the time period being _at least_ but only if you decide to co-operate with me."

I shouldn't be doing this at all, this wasn't regulation in the least bit. Standard protocol would involve going to the director – **Strauss** – and informing her that I did not believe that Spencer Reid was mentally competent to report to duty in the current time period and then of course Strauss would be obligated to take it to higher authority. Subsequently a serious meeting would probably follow which could result in the likely possibility of Reid losing his job, which was in all honesty the sole thing keeping Reid together.

_**Depends on how you define 'together' really...**_

Reid's mother had passed away a few months ago and since then the unit and I could only watch as he began to decay rapidly. It had been easy to disregard at first, it was only small things; being excessively irritable, constantly late and not up to par with his usual job performance. I had just assumed that it would pass **sooner or later** and decided that it didn't need to be handled as a proper misdemeanour. Eventually it had escalated to a degree where I could no longer just pass it off as Reid 'mourning' and had decided to talk to him. That had been yesterday afternoon and I had expected Reid's behaviour to improve to some extent. I was wrong.

He had appeared to listen and he'd offered a sincere and heartfelt apology and assured me that it would no longer happen. I had then driven him home, telling him to get some rest and to call me if he needed to talk, he had nodded and given me a small smile before closing the door and walking up to his apartment. The adjacent morning at work I had been exceedingly shocked when Reid had not shown up at all.

_**Hell, I didn't even expect him to be late.**_

He hadn't even called to tell me and that was what had disturbed me. I assumed that we had sorted everything out to some level the previous night and that Reid's work performance would return to the way it originally was. Of course, I didn't expect it to happen overnight but I was surely expecting _something_. I'd tried ringing his cell phone many times with no answer and had then switched to his land line which had the same result. It was then that I had decided that something wasn't quite right and I would have to visit Reid later that day.

And that was how I'd found myself in this position.

I had used my emergency key to get into his apartment. Reid had presented it to me a few years ago when Gideon had left and he had named me as his next of kin, he explained to me that he had only given me the key to use in the event that something had happened and made me promise to him that I would **only **use it in the circumstance of an emergency. I knew Reid took a large amount of comfort in his reclusiveness and I had told him that I would never do anything to jeopardize that.

I felt it necessary to use in that moment, though I had no evidence that this was an emergency – _for all I knew Reid wasn't even in his apartment – _but my gut was telling me not to waste time knocking and that Reid wouldn't have let me in any way.

When I had walked in I was met with a state of utter chaos and it had unnerved me. Reid had always been neat to an extent—_unless he was concentrating very hard on something that required his full attention_ – and he ordinarily preferred everything so be in some form of order. It wasn't difficult to notice the signs of distress on his face when he would come into work in the morning and discover that I had 'dumped' a heap of case files on his workspace and he would hurry to organise them in a manner that would make it more efficient for him to work through. I had always smiled fondly when I noticed him doing this, I never analysed it even though my profiler instincts urged me to think into it, it was just a Reid thing.

_**Like putting a gazillion teaspoons of sugar into his coffee or rambling on about statistics until he was silenced by the share glares of his peers.**_

I had only ever been to Reid's apartment once in the past and that had been only for a clipped few moments to drop off some files for him, but even then I had taken note of the way Reid kept things and though any average individual might just view it as a semi-tidy apartment, I had easily noticed the way Reid's many book shelves were organised in order by his appreciation of the books (which could be told by the quality the books themselves were in), I noticed the way Reid had his furniture organised in a way that made it appear orderly and presentable but also in a position that would make it simple for Reid to run out of his bedroom, grab some coffee from the kitchen and collect his go bag before rushing to the BAU for an emergency call out and I noticed the way Reid had assembled the numerous pictures of himself along with his mother and his team in the living area so that they were all viewable from the evidently aged armchair that served as Reid's favorite.

Reid's apartment presently could in no way contend to Reid's apartment then. I could easily see from the position I was standing in near the front door that there were in fact _no_ pictures of any kind in the living room. All the books had been knocked down and were all in a messy heap on the floor and Reid's tiny kitchen table was flooded with untidy paperwork that I couldn't even begin to make sense of and as I wearily moved forward to grab a hold of one of the pieces of paper I was straightaway halted by the sound that alerted me that I was no longer the only one in the room.

Reid was stagnant in front of me looking wary. His hair was projecting up at all angles and the obviously at one time starch white long-sleeved shirt he was wearing had numerous stains on it, the brownish ones were obviously coffee but the red ones were very worrying.

**Was that _blood?_**

I was even more alarmed by the weak but unmistakable stench of urine in the air that alerted me to the fact that blood may not be the sole body fluid on the young agent. This was confirmed when I took note of the faded but still clearly damp patch that stained Reid's pyjama bottoms in the crotch area and down his left leg.

"H-Hotch?" the voice is creaky, worn and _confused. _"What are you doing here?"

"You didn't come into this work this morning and you weren't picking up your phone." I replied, keeping my voice kind and level.

"You called? When?" Reid sounds anxious. **Scared?**

"Multiple times today. You didn't receive them?"

"I must have been asleep..."

"Asleep? All day?" I'm sceptical.

"I... I don't... I'm sorry, I didn't..." Reid mumbles in response to my query. It is then that I notice with some fear that Reid had turned a near mortal shade of white and I hurried to take a firm hold of his arm and escort him to the nearest couch before he could pass out. When he was sitting down and I was confident that he was no longer in danger of falling I had gone to the kitchen with the intent of fetching him a glass of water. The plan was stalled however when I was introduced to the sad reality that Reid's dishware was spread out in assorted states of filth around the tiny apartment kitchen. I had looked around carefully for any kind of equipment that could be used to serve water in and was rendered unsuccessful as I tactically manoeuvred over what must have been Reid's only clean drinking glass, which had lain in dangerous shards on the tiled floor and started looking through the cupboards. Most of them were empty of anything useful and I groaned as I cautiously kneeled to begin searching through the lower cupboards. The one under the sink only contained old rags and various cleaning equipment but the cupboard to the right of it caught my attention and I slowly scanned it. There was a first aid kit, a box of matches, assorted sizes of candles, a flashlight and...

_**Aha! A plastic water bottle.**_

I reached forward to pick it up and was just about to close the cupboard when I recalled that Reid had blood on his shirt. As a precaution I grabbed the first aid kit and shut the cupboard door before pulling myself up off the floor and leaning over to the sink so I could fill the water bottle.

After a few seconds I made my way back to the living room and knelt down in front of him.

"Here, I got you some water. Come on, slow sips." and I watched as Reid looked at myself and the bottle with bemusement before rubbing his eyes and moving forward to acquire the bottle. I watched him cautiously to be sure that he wasn't in taking too much liquid and when he made it clear that he was finished I gently took the bottle from his hold and set it down within arms reach.

I was uncertain on how I was supposed to proceed from that point, so I decided to get the crucial things out-of-the-way first and then I'd start my inquiry as to how Reid had found himself in this position later.

"Are you injured?" I asked quietly.

"A little bit..." he trailed off.

"Where?"

I watched as his eyes moved downwards.

_**His arms.**_

I cautiously moved forward and took his left arm first. I slowly and carefully pushed the sleeves up to a point just above the elbow. I was not surprised at the display that greeted me, a part of me had expected that Reid had been doing this for a long time.

_**But it still hurts. Hurts to see what he has been reduced to.**_

There were a large number of self-inflicted cuts on his arm. The ones that stood out the most were distinct and blood-red, impossible to overlook. Those were evidently the ones that Reid had done within the past week or so. There were others, more elusive but still **there**, most of them were in assorted states of healing and there were only a few that were completely healed. I'm not a medical doctor but I was all but completely certain that the absolute majority—_if not all_—of those cuts had been done after the passing of Reid's mother.

Of course, it was still practical that Reid had been doing this for a long time. Years, even. Given Reid's past and all the horrifying things he had endured in his short life it would be very understandable for him to turn to self-injury just to be able to _cope_. There were a number of things I could think of to offer support to this theory. I couldn't recall the last time I'd seen Reid dress in anything that did not conceal the full length of his arms. In the rare times when I had to share a hotel room with him due to shortages and unavailability I can remember him always going to bed wearing a long-sleeved top along with flannelette pyjama bottoms. Even in one hundred degree temperatures. The heat almost **never** has an effect on him.

_**Or maybe the shame override it...**_

I made a conscious decision not to say anything for the time being and instead put my complete focus into healing the newer marks. I reached for the small first aid kit and opened it, I was pleased to discover an adequate amount of bandages and a small bottle of antibiotic ointment, both of which I took out and set beside me. I then made a quick trip to the bathroom and managed to find a distinct variety of painkillers, I chose a brand that I was more familiar with and placed it in my pocket before taking hold of a small plastic bucket that was in the corner near the bath. I took it and filled it up almost halfway with hot water before picking up the anti-bacterial soap cake that was in the sink and what I hoped was a clean wash cloth and made my way back to where Reid was still sitting on the coach.

"I'm going to clean these up, okay?" I asked, not waiting for an answer, as I had already wet the cloth and was starting to clean the wounds. I listened carefully for any response from Reid that could indicate that he was in some sort of pain but was rather disturbed when I noticed that he was not making a sound.

_**Not even moving.**_

Just watching me with a curious expression as I reached for the betadine so I could begin rubbing it into the wounds. When I was sure they no longer were at risk of infection I reached for the bandages and grabbed a small pair of scissors from the kit so I could manipulate them to suitable sizes.

"You don't have to do this, you know. They'll heal eventually." Reid's voice no longer held that awful tired quality and he sounded rather confident in what he is saying.

I had no clue as to what to say in response to that and although the words had a great effect on me I chose to set my emotions aside and once again put as much focus as I possibly could—**with what Reid had just said to me weighing heavily on my mind** – into patching Reid up.

"Are you ignoring me now?" Reid quietly asked

"No." I responded softly.

"Then why aren't you talking to me?" his voice was quiet and _fragile._

"I'm thinking." I said.

"About **what?**"

"About what I'm going to do about you." I looked up to Reid then and could see the obvious confusion on his face. "Why are you doing this yourself Reid?"

"I need to." The statement contained so much conviction and I couldn't even bear to think of what was going through Reid's head right in that moment.

I'd finished cleaning his left arm then and I placed it gently at his side as I reached for his right arm. I was not overly surprised to find that it was free of marks and I set it down as well.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" I questioned gently.

"No."

"Okay, let's get you cleaned up." I said.

I took a steady hold of his forearms and helped him stand, holding him firmly as I helped him walk to the bathroom which was only a few steps away. Once there I set him down on the toilet seat sternly telling him not to move and set about running him a bath. I glanced at Reid to make certain that he wasn't going to go anywhere and when I was self-assured that he wouldn't leave the room, I walked out and set about finding clothing for Reid to change into when he was finished with his bath. When I entered his room the stench hit me hard and I tried not to gag as I moved my left hand to cover my nose and mouth.

_**Urine. Sweat. Blood.**_

The light was turned off and a big part of me didn't want to find the courage to turn it on, morbidly afraid of what would greet me. In fact, an even larger part of me wanted to walk away from the room in that very moment—too frightened to go in any further—and just inform my agent that I could not find anything of a suitable nature and that we would just pick some things up en route to my home, where he would be staying that night. I pushed those thoughts aside, feeling rather guilty and instead reached for the light switch and flicked it on. It was worse than what I thought.

There were clothes lying every where all over the room and a lot of the furniture including Reid's dresser had been overturned. There were multiple stains on the carpet, mostly coffee and blood and there was a yellowish stain on Reid's bed bottom sheet which didn't take me too much thinking to figure out what it was.

**I sigh. Tiredly. _Sadly._**

In fact I was dismayed to see as I walked around his medium-sized bedroom collecting and examining various clothing articles from the floor to see if they were unused that most of his pants and underwear had a strong stench of urine and that worried me immensely. Reid had never had any bladder troubles before as far as I was aware and considering the amount of time the job required us to spend together, I was very aware. Whenever we'd shared a hotel room while away on a case he had **never** wet the bed and I'd never seen him wear any kind of 'protective underwear'. It was likely that this problem was caused by stress and it was even more apparent what the stress was caused by. I'd known that Reid was struggling but I had never thought that it was _this_ bad and I cursed myself internally for failing to notice.

_**I'm a profiler for God's sake.**_

I was ultimately aware that if I didn't hasten my pace and hurry up and finish what I was doing that the bath would flood and so I moved to the overturned chest of drawers, promptly turned it up the right way and began exploring the drawers. There wasn't much, most of his clothing lay soiled on the floor but I managed to find a fresh pair of underwear, a reasonable sized green colored pair of shorts (which I doubt Reid had ever worn in his life) and an old greyish pullover which had definitely seen better days. It was nothing of Reid's usual style but desperate times called for desperate measures and I picked up the clothing and made my way back to the bathroom.

When I got there I was happy to see that Reid had not moved from his spot on the toilet seat and I went to the bath, turned off the hot and cold faucets and tester the water, deciding that it was of a reasonable temperate I turned to Reid.

"Do you need help getting undressed?"

Reid looked up alarmed. "No..."

"Ok, hurry up then. Get in."

"With you in here?"

"I'm going to clean some things up but the door is staying open. Wash yourself best as you can, forget about your hair, you can do that tonight when things are more in order. Please try not to get your bandages wet and shout if you need me."

He still looked wary but had begun taking off his clothes, when I was certain that he was going to co-operate I turned to him.

"I'll be back soon."

I left the room, taking Reid's dirty clothing with me, making sure the door was completely open and set about finding a trash bag. Once I had found a rather large unused one in the storage closet in the living room I made my way about the apartment collecting Reid's dirty clothing. I was almost tempted to dump the bag off at the nearest dry cleaners – or better yet, a bin—and leave the workers to the unpleasant task, but I instead double-checked to see if I have overlooked anything and set the bag by the apartment door. I'd see what clothes I could salvage when I took Reid to my place later that evening.

Next, I found a cardboard box which had held a bunch of old books of Reid's. I placed them carefully on the closest bookshelf and then filled the box with all of his broken dishware, the box was almost overflown by the time I had finished but once I was sure there was nothing more I put it beside the door to dispose of later.

When I got back into the bathroom Reid was laying still in the bath tub with a vacant stare, his previous attitude had changed and instead of seeming so disoriented he seemed now much more conscious of the situation and when he spoke his voice conveyed an emotion that I couldn't exactly pinpoint.

"I'm sorry you had to come here and do this tonight." his voice was thin and wispy.

_**Fear. Anxiety. Nervousness. Shame?**_

"I don't mind helping you Spencer, you know that. I want to know why you're doing this to yourself." I tried to reason

"I know, I'm sorry. I'll stop. I promise." He couldn't even look at me.

"I don't want to hear that you're going to stop. I want you to tell me what is going on because I want to help you."

I has clearly seen the shine of unshed tears in Reid's eyes.

"Just forget it, it doesn't matter."

_**Forget it?**_

_**Doesn't Matter?**_

"Reid..." I'd stretched.

"Could you please leave for a second? I'm finished, I need to get dressed."

I sighed "Sure, your clothes and a clean towel are on the counter. Sorry about the clothing choice, there wasn't – Never mind, I'll be outside, okay?"

"Reid, you **need** to talk to me, or at least someone. I'm not going to sit back and watch you destroy yourself."

"For the last _fucking_ time, I am not destroying myself. Please leave, I didn't invite you in and you have no right to be here." Reid spat back at me "If you're not gone in two minutes, I will call the police. Don't underestimate me Hotchner, I'm more competent than you think."

"Reid can you _**please **_just hear me out on this. I'm not going to leave you here and come back tomorrow morning to find you've done some serious harm to yourself. No one thinks you're incapable Reid. You can contact the police if you really want to but I'll just inform them that you are a serious risk to yourself – _which you are – _and after that things will get out of your control _very_ quickly. I don't think you want that. I'll be prepared to keep this between ourselves, for the time period being _at least_ but only if you decide to co-operate with me."

"I **don't** want to go with you, I've been fine by myself for years Aaron. Sure, I've struggled but I've overcome that and please do tell me why is it that you want to intervene _now_. What about when I got kidnapped? I was addicted to dilaudid in case you forgot and not one time did you ask if I was okay or offer your help. I was **struggling** then, I'm not anymore. It's manipulative of you to come in and try to control me when I am perfectly capable of handling things on my own. I've had plenty of practice, after all. I have not requested your aid and I don't need your help. Get out." Reid is screaming in my face now and I am taken aback by this fierceness.

"You're right. I didn't help you and I'm _sorry_, but I'm not going to let that happen again. You either come with me right now or I will contact a mental health professional and then we'll both be able to get a professional opinion on what you **need**." I feel cruel but it's necessary.

"That's... that's fucking blackmail."

"I'm only doing it because I want to help you. Please remember that. We're leaving."


	2. I Do Not Want This

Sorry for taking ages to upload this. I've had practice exams over the past week and a half so have been a bit busy. Please R+R.

I am laying in bed and staring up at the ghostly white ceiling above me. I am not in my own bed – that much I know. I am semi-aware of what has happened over the past eight or so hours, but my mind is having particularly a hard time piecing it all together to get it to make any sense.

_**Everything is so... hazy.**_

The bed I am in is warm and very snug and I can tell that the mystery person who has picked it out is not one to go for _anything_ cheap. The bed is queen-sized and I can feel myself almost melting into the soft folds of the expensive sheets beneath me. It's not unusual for me – I've probably slept in hotel beds more than I have my own - but the homeliness feel of the room I am in is enough to alert me to the fact that I am definitely **not** in a hotel room.

I only have a simple single bed in my apartment. I've never really been into having friends over – or even having friends in general and of course I've never had anything remotely close to a girlfriend so it would be silly to spend a rather large sum of money on something that is fundamentally useless.

Disgrace washes over me as I think of my bed now, most likely destroyed by the strain I've put on it over the last couple of months.

_**Because of that STUPID and EMBARRASSING habit that has just erupted out of nowhere.**_

I am unnerved by the fact that I am clueless as to what the time is. There are two windows in the room and both are shadowed by dark coloured curtains but I can deduce that it is night time.

_**Possibly very early in the morning. Maybe three or four am?**_

I decide to attempt to sleep again, I am confused about where I am although I know that somewhere in my brain I am aware but it hurts to think about it and I've already put enough pressure on my mind lately.

I know that I feel safe and that is enough for me to let my guards down enough to sleep, even if only for a short while.

When I wake up, my mind instantly alerts me to the small beams of light that have slipped in through the dark and heavy curtains. It's early morning light and I assume that it's some time between six or seven. It's no use staying in bed and my only objective is to get out of this house and go home and sleep forever.

I think it's Friday and so I am half aware that I should be attending work today but I'm really not in the mood.

_I haven't been in the mood for __**weeks.**_

I push the covers back, slip out of bed and stand. My limbs feel heavy and I wobble as I struggle to hold my weight and also try to fight off the dizzy feelings. Within seconds, it is under control and I take in a few deep breathes before looking around the room.

There is a light switch, near the door to the right of me. I tiredly walk to it and switch it on, shielding my eyes as the angry light invades the room.

Once I am accustomed to it, though, I open my eyes and finally take a look around the room. The walls are a nice beige color which I find particularly soothing, the carpet is greyish, but it's a nice grey and it's very soft. The furniture is very bare and there are no personal photos so I assume that it is a guest room.

There is another door, to the left of me and I cautiously step forward and pull it open just a bit.

_**A closet.**_

_**An empty closet.**_

And there is a wooden chest of drawers on the wall opposite the bed, I don't need to look into it to know it must be empty but my mind is no longer focusing on that.

There are clothes on top of it and I curiously step forward to examine them.

It is obvious that whoever picked them out had me in mind because the clothes are not only my size but they're also something I would typically wear outside of work.

_The person who picked them out obviously knows me very well._

There is a blue and white striped t-shirt, along with a charcoal grey cardigan which is surprisingly soft and thick – _definitely __**not**__ cheap –_ and the black jeans are an obvious designer brand. The cotton boxer shorts have also been picked with me in mind and I feel a great sense of comfort that someone actually put in effort to help me.

It is then that I am alerted to the outfit I am wearing. I haven't paid any attention to it all morning because it hadn't occurred to me that I might not be wearing my own clothing and also because it feels like something that I would usually wear to bed. Now, I can tell that these clothes have been bought for me as well. The red and white plaid flannelette pyjama bottoms are very warm and comfortable and the long-sleeved shirt I am wearing is a lot more thicker than the usual shirts I wear to bed.

I blush as I also realise that the briefs I'm wearing under the pyjamas are also new.

It feels nice.

_I feel nice._

**I feel... safe.**

I wonder if someone had to help me get dressed last night. The thought is unpleasant but is also very likely and it's also not exactly unwanted.

_**No one's ever really taken care of me before...**_

I am thrown from my thoughts as the loud sound of footsteps invades the silence of the room and I look up to the door. The knock that follows is louder than I expect and I realise that the person on the other side of the door probably thinks I am still asleep.

Within seconds of knocking the door begins to open and I tense in anticipation of who may be there because really the possibilities are endless.

And when the door opens and this myterious 'knocker' is revealed I almost choke as the shame washes over me and infects my airways.

Because I had a sincere hope that it may have been JJ, Emily, Garcia or even Morgan because that would have been a lot easier to deal with. None of them would be able to threaten my job and would probably only be interested in helping me because I'm a friend and that's what friends do.

_**Not a subordinate.**_

And the only reason I can imagine Hotch would **want** to help me is because I'm of an essential value to the team. I literally cannot think of any other reason that would make sense.

Hotch is my boss and that adds an unncecessary weight to this already heavy situation.

_**I already feel like I'm going to sink.**_

Of course, I don't doubt that Hotch actually does want to help me. Even at least for the sheer purpose that I will once again revert to my position as an asset to the team instead of that same dead weight that's been hanging round for weeks.

But, I am also confused that Hotch would have taken to come around to my apartment – which is around a twenty minute drive from work – and then take me home to his home which is also twenty minutes from work, in the completely opposite direction.

_'Why didn't he just shove me off to Morgan?'_

And, there's also the fact that Hotch is a single dad and surely he wouldn't want to take time out of his already extremely busy schedule to try and _assist_ me instead of spending time with his young son.

"I'm sorry, I thought you might have been asleep." The voice breaks me from my thoughts.

"No, I've um, I've just woken up. What time is it?" I ask quietly.

"It's a few minutes past seven, I was actually expecting you to sleep for a little while longer. You can go back to bed if you'd like, I'll wake you up before nine..." He trails off.

"No, it's fine, I don't think I can go back to sleep." I reply.

"That's alright, why don't you go take a shower and I'll get started on breakfast. I've got you some clothing, I'm sorry, I didn't exactly know what to pick. I've been sorting through your clothes but it looks like a lot of them will need to be thrown out. I'll take you shopping later today, if you're up to it."

This confuses me.

"Thrown out? Why?"

I watch as he pauses for a few seconds.

"You don't remember?" His voice sounds so sad all of sudden

"No..."

"Well... Why don't you go get cleaned up? We can talk about ...**things **over breakfast."

I am immediately worried and my instantaneous reaction is to push Hotch on the matter – or to just get the **hell **out of the house – but also somewhere deep inside me I have a feeling that I really don't want to know what Hotch is talking about so I consciously deside to abide by Hotch and I grab the pile of clothing and head down the hallway to the bathroom.

I like showers. I like the fact that most of the time the water is loud enough to block out the toxic thoughts that plague my mind and that even if only just for a few minutes I can forget about things and focus on the soothing sound of the water.

I also like the feeling that I am getting clean, I'm not exactly a '_germophobe_' though others might tend to disagree but going more than six hours without a thorough wash is enough to make me feel sort of icky, which is inconvenient in my line of work because more times than not you get the odd blood splatter on you and you generally have to wait at least a few hours to get the time to wash it off.

_**And even then it's not enough.**_

But there's the unmistakable weight of the blood and what the blood **means**. I mean, the blood could be the blood of some deranged psychopath, one of your fellow agents or maybe even the blood of a small child.

_It still stains. Not physically but __**mentally.**_

Yet, I can't shake the feeling that I feel like I haven't showered in weeks. I know I must've, though I can't really remember, I've been at work a lot the past two months even if only 'physically' and Hotch would have surely sent me home if my appearance had been less than satisfactory but I have no idea how I must have brought myself to shower considering the suffocating grief I have felt.

_**It seems over the past two months that I've been so sad that I can't even move.**_

I focus on undressing. I am once again reminded of the quality of the shirt as it slides with ease over my skin and I am introduced to the bandages that cover my heavily scarred left arm. I marvel at the level of care that has obviously been applied and try not to think much of it.

_**It's not like he could have missed it...**_

But there's also a feeling of unease in my stomach that Hotch would actually go that level to fix me up. Even, if it's just a few bandages here and there, he could have easily shoved me off to a doctor and had me admitted into some emergency psychological care centre instead of taking time to patch me up.

I shake off the feeling, he is my boss, of course he's concerned about me or more specifically; my work performance. Obviously from a strictly professional point of view, he needs me for the team and of course he couldn't have taken me to a mental health facility, following the standard protocol would have been difficult... _**messy.**_ I wouldn't be allowed to return to work as normal if the Bureau found out I was 'self-injuring' and so Hotch had to go 'under the table', more for the team's benefit than my own, it's been done before.

_**As if he'd actually care about me.**_

And of course he wouldn't tell the rest of the team, he doesn't want me on their minds. He wants them able to work as efficiently as possible with the lack of the 'struggling boy genius' around and so he's probably already told them that I'm going on some sort of retreat and the only reason I've been here overnight is to get an as early as possible start so I can head away to some 'under the radar' rehab facility overseas.

I shake myself from the thoughts and almost laugh to myself. The thoughts are absurd. Hotch just wanted me over to keep an eye on me and he'll likely take me back to my apartment later today.

_What day is it anyway? Wednesday? Thursday?_

I quickly draw my attention to my watch which does in fact say that it is Wednesday. This confuses me because it's unlikely that Hotch would take a day off – especially in the middle of the week.

_**Yet, here he is. With me.**_

I retract myself from the thoughts. All this thinking is beginning to give me a head ache and I instead focus on removing the rest of my clothes and starting the shower.


End file.
